


Learning Curve

by evewithanapple



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: F/M, first time fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-04 21:25:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evewithanapple/pseuds/evewithanapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's an art to this, and they'll figure it out together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning Curve

The sun is setting by the time they walk back towards Katherine’s apartment, still laughing a little breathlessly from conversation and alcohol. After Jack nearly trips over a lip in the sidewalk, his arm goes around Katherine for balance, and she grins as passers-by glare at them. If they knew who he was- who she was- they would fairly combust with outrage. The thought only makes her laugh harder, hiccupping as she tries to explain her fresh outburst to Jack, who looks at her like she’s lost her mind.

As they draw nearer to her apartment, they slow, though Jack’s hand lingers on her hip. It’s comfortably warm, and she takes the opportunity to wind her own arm around his waist. She can feel him pause for a moment before he leans into the gesture, and she hides a smile behind her free hand. She knows he understands how she feels- as if she hadn’t made it abundantly clear- but there’s still something that flutters in her stomach when he does something like lean into her touch or kiss her back slowly, gently, like he’s still learning the trick of it. They both are. There’s a learning curve to this, to understanding what it means to wrap your arms around someone else and not let go, to feel the sheer power of _feeling_ when he’s the only thing in her view and his arms are around her like she’s a life raft and he’s determined not to let go. “Power” isn’t a word she ever thought to associate with love- not like this, not when it comes freely given and happily taken- but there’s no other word for what rushes through her veins and under her skin as he gently squeezes her hip. Not the kind of power she’s come to associate with her father, but the kind that feels like she could leap from the top of the Empire State and float down on her own steam.

He looks up at the apartment building as she shakes herself out of her reverie. “I should get going.”

“Already?” She tries to keep disappointment from her voice. It’s not as if they haven’t been walking together for almost an hour, and spent time at Jaocbi’s before that; it’s just that there’s a spell over both of them tonight that she doesn’t want to see end just yet.

He cocks an eyebrow at her, an infuriatingly familiar gesture. “Some of us gotta work in the morning.”

“Watch yourself,” she says, mock-pushing him. Under normal circumstances, she would be at work bright and early as well, but the Sun’s head editor has left for a week- his honeymoon- and in a fit of nuptial-induced benevolence, given half his workers the week off. She knows she wouldn’t have been so lucky to get the week off had the editor seen her as one of his more valuable staff members, but she tries not to let it sting terribly. Vacation is vacation, after all.

“Come up to my rooms, at least,” she says, tugging on his hand. “I’ll get you something to drink.” They’ve both mostly sobered up from the beer earlier, but she has coffee upstairs- a gift from her father that she has yet to open- and she knows for a fact Jack likes the stuff.

He raises that damned eyebrow again, though apparently more in confusion than cockiness. It takes her a moment to catch on to why. He’s never been to her apartment before, no more than she’s been to his. Usually their excursions end on the roof of the lodging house, which is as close as she’s ever gotten to seeing where the infamous Jack Kelley lives. They wouldn’t even be here now, were it not for the late hour and Jack’s insistence on walking her home. Male chivalry, she’s learned, can be irritating, but it has benefits. Such as being able to invite him up.

But he blinks and shifts from foot to foot, sticking his free hand in his pocket. “I . . . I dunno. Should I?”

“I’ve invited you, haven’t I?” She takes his arm and tugs. “It won’t take more than an hour.” The time, she knows, isn’t what’s concerning him, but she’s not worried. Her pulse is speeding up, and she can feel her heart thumping harder under her blouse, but that’s not worry- that’s excitement, perhaps mixed with a bit of trepidation, but it’s still not worry. The voice at the back of her head- the one that warns her against doing rash things, and that she generally ignores- is prodding her to step away. She ignores it.

Judging by the look on Jack’s face, he’s not ignorant of what’s happening inside her head, but he takes her outstretched hand, and his fingers are warm and firm. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

Her rooms are on the second floor, so it’s not long before they’re stepping inside and she’s closing the door behind them. Jack walks in before her, and as she shuts the door, she hears a soft exhalation of surprise. She turns, grinning. “Impressed?”

She knows he is, but perhaps not for the reasons he might have expected. Katherine’s apartment is sparsely furnished, two rooms with little more than the furniture that came with the place- cupboards in the kitchen and a bed in the bedroom. She did bring her own table with her, but rarely eats there; more often she has grabs breakfast, lunch, and supper on the fly while she’s out walking the streets or in her office. From the look on Jack’s face, he probably expected the place to have ten rooms and be furnished with silk and velvet. She never had liked silk anyway.

He turns to her, a wide grin on his face. “You know I am.” She smiles as he hooks an arm around her waist and pulls her in for a kiss. She puts a hand on either side of his face, feeling the bristly ends of his hair- it’s the end of the day and he hasn’t shaved- scratch at her palms, sliding with the day’s accumulation of sweat and the oil he uses to keep his hair flat. She can smell it, too- the musk of sweat, the fainter odors of soap and cotton. His shirt collar is open at the neck, so she runs her fingers down and around, clutching at the nape of his neck and the bare skin beneath his hairline. He slides an arm around her waist, holding her upright as the stumble backwards into the kitchen, and sets her on the edge of the table as she brings her hands back around to cup his face.

He pulls back for a moment, searching her face. “You’re sure-”

Normally she’d laugh, maybe roll her eyes at his caution, but this is too important to laugh at. Instead she leans forward and bumps her nose against his. “I’m sure.”

It’s all the permission either of them need. Her hands go back to his shirt, but instead of grasping his neck, she lets them slide down over his shoulders, tugging at his shirt as she does so. It occurs to her that she’s never seen him without the shirt on before, as she feels his muscles jump and twitch under her hands. Not that she hasn’t looked once or twice, when the collar slid down further than it was meant to and gave her a glimpse of the bare skin of his neck. But it’s nothing like now, as her fingers fumble with the buttons and push it backwards off his shoulders. She has to suppress a gasp as it finally comes off- she knew he was far from skinny but she hadn’t expected . . . _this_.

He looks up, and she tries to duck her head, but she knows he’s caught her staring. And there’s that insufferable cocky grin again. “Like what you see?”

She thinks about smacking his shoulder, but a better idea occurs to her. She’s not the only one exploring new territory here. He’s already been fussing with the buttons on her shirt; it only takes a quick tug to slide it from her shoulders, leaving her in only her chemise and corset- and the chemise is thin enough to see her skin underneath, and slipping off her shoulder besides. Now it’s Jack’s turn to gape.

She smirks. “I don’t know. Do you?”

He doesn’t answer, but winds a hand in her hair and kisses her instead. She gasps against his mouth as his other hand prodding gently at the top of her corset. He can’t get it off, she knows, so it’s a shock when two of his fingers finally slip under the corset and tease at one of her nipples. She yelps in surprise.

He draws back, concern clouding his face. “Did I-”

“ _Keep doing that_ ,” she hisses, and doesn’t even bother to roll her eyes when his response is a smug look. As far as she’s concerned, he earned it. She grabs his belt and pulls him in closer, as close as he can get without colliding with the table. Her skirts are already in a wild disarray, but she shoves them impatiently out of the way as she wraps a leg around his waist, tugging the fabric up as high as she can. With her other hand, she explores his bared torso, teasing at his own nipples- that draws a groan from him, so of course she repeats the action- and eventually slides it down to his trousers, which are he's already helpfully half-unbuttoned for her. She takes a deep breath- as much as she can, with Jack's mouth on hers'- before she reaches in. Has he done this before? Will he know the difference? She hasn't, and for all she knows, she's going to bungle it horribly-

 _Stop it_  she mentally scolds herself, and reaches in, taking him in her hand. His mouth stutters against hers', hand tightening against her hair, as she strokes experimentally. She had no idea what to expect, truthfully, but it's not bad; he feels warm and solid in her hand, and the erratic breaths still puffing against her mouth are making her smile. _She_  did that. Jack's fingers are opening and closing against her head, so she pulls his hand down, leaving it around her waist instead. He’s moaning into her mouth, and it feels impossibly good- but he’s not the only one who needs attending to, and it seems he’s noticed. His hand travels over her hip, exploring, until he reaches the cleft of her legs and strokes her gently with his fingers.

She yelps again, but neither of them are in danger of mistaking it for a sound of pain. He pushes the fingers further in, stroking harder and upwards. She reaches a hand down and guides them- she knows just where she wants those fingers, and when they connect with the right spot, she gasps and rubs herself against them. It feels _so good_ , better than she ever could have imagined, and she’s not worried anymore, not in the slightest. They’re doing this together, the way they fight through the city together, the way they do all the important things- united and ready to take on what’s next. And they’re ready for it.

She undoes the last button on his trousers, and he hoists her the last inch up and slides inside her. This time, the yelp is slightly pained- it feels like a dull stab- but before he can draw back and ask her if she’s alright, she winds both legs around his waist and pulls him in as close as she can. The ache is still there, but it’s throbbing, and it feels so impossibly good. She sinks her teeth into her lower lip and draws his head towards hers, staring into impossibly wide, impossibly green eyes until she closes the gap and kisses him again, swallowing both their moans. Each of her hands are now fisted in his hair, dangerously close to yanking, as she wiggles off the table and wraps her legs more tightly around his waist for support.

He picks her up and turns them around, so her back is pushed against the kitchen wall instead. She can feel herself sliding up and down with every thrust- _yes, keep doing that, **please**_ \- so she puts her arms around his shoulders and holds on tight. No, wait- she puts one arm around his shoulders and uses the other to push those damned skirts out of the way again. She’s wearing trousers after this, she decides; skirts are far too cumbersome to accomplish anything as quickly as she’d like. Already, it seems to be coming to a close; Jack is gasping against her mouth, fingers reflexively tightening around her back, and she can feel waves of heat building in her stomach and washing lower until she has to bury her face in Jack’s shoulder to keep from shouting out loud and alarming the neighbours. Jack’s face is pressed against her cheek, presumably doing the same thing.

He lets go of her waist, and she drops her legs, letting them slide to the floor. She still feels wobbly, like her feet are only barely supporting her weight, so she leans against Jack for a moment, breathing him in. He runs a hand through his now thoroughly disarrayed hair, and they both stand in comfortable silence for a moment.

He is the first one to break it. “Didn’t you mention coffee?”

Katherine lets out a mock-outraged sound and swats him. “Is that all I’m here for?”

He laughs against her hair. “After that I need something to drink.”

She pulls away from the wall, taking his hand as she does so. “Perhaps you’ll need to come back for more tomorrow.”

He follows her. “If I do, I’ll need to work up the appetite again.” The eyebrow again, more cautious than cocky. “If you’d like.”

She turns, leans up, and gently kisses his cheek. “Count on it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Man, MANY thanks to the people of tumblr who cheered me on while writing this, including (but not limited to) punkrockmuffinatrix for her extensive Edwardian underwear know-how, and mswyrr, pylades, and dtchdsck for nudging me to finish it.


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